


Owned

by fucker



Category: Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Gun Kink, M/M, Mild Blood, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18249176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker
Summary: Nevada isn't a man that likes feeling challenged.





	Owned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Menage_gay_trois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menage_gay_trois/gifts).



> Request from Tumblr
> 
> Thank you [ItalianDoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalianDoll) for the beta :3

“What have I told you about letting other men buy you drinks?”

“Relax, Nevada.” You waved a dismissive hand at him. “Free booze is free booze.”

“Relax, Nevada,” he mimicked, pitching his voice up to a mocking tone.

He strode towards you and you instinctively shrank away. That one tiny act of submission was all it took to instantly turn him into the predator that he was, and his face split into a cold grin as he took another step. You were quick to mirror him, backing away as he kept advancing in an effort to keep a safe, comfortable distance between the two of you.

You didn't have a lot of time to wonder what you were in for before your shoulders hit the opposite wall. Nevada kept coming until he was inches from your face; one hand landing on the wall next to your head boxing you in and a knee between your legs keeping you from ducking away, and you could see just how blown out his pupils were. He was _hot_ , the warmth from his flushed skin radiating through his two layers of clothing plus your own thin shirt, but it wasn't enough. You reached for him, numb fingers scrabbling at buttons in an effort to bare his chest.

“You know how fucking bad it makes me look?” Nevada knocked your hands away and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Letting other men make moves on you when everyone knows you're mine?”

Winding him up was a surefire way to get what you wanted when you were in the mood for something harder, rougher, more taboo than usual, and you smirked at him despite your pounding heart. “What are you gonna do, fuck an apology out of me?”

“Who said anything about an apology? Get on your knees.”

“Make me.”

Nevada scoffed in disbelief. “Make you,” he repeated.

You lunged forward without warning and bit down on one of the few bits of bare skin within reach. The taste of him was both incredibly satisfying and extremely arousing; bitter from his favorite cologne and salty with sweat, quickly followed by the taste of blood as you sank your teeth into his collarbone hard enough to break skin.

Nevada cursed and shoved you back up against the wall, pinning you with a forearm and clapping a hand to his chest. When he finally drew his hand away you could see the extent of the damage— a full row of near-perfect imprints on the top and a half dozen more in a neat crescent below, the marks from your canines deep enough that blood was already beginning to well up again. He carelessly wiped his bloody fingers across your cheek, then reached back, pulled his gun from the back of his jeans, and leveled it at the floor between your feet.

“Get on your _fucking_ knees, _maricón_. I won't ask again.”

Your heart rate instantly doubled. Shocked into obedience, you dropped gracelessly to the hardwood floor with a loud thud, adrenaline flooding your system and numbing the pain of what would undoubtedly be two garish bruises in the morning. Inches from your face, Nevada already had his belt open and was fumbling one-handed with his fly, but your focus was on the gun pointed at you; on how his grip was tight, steadier than a surgeon's hand, his finger bare millimeters from the trigger, the network of veins in his hand and wrist shifting over bone and tendons as he adjusted his hold.

 _This was new_. He'd only ever pulled a weapon on you once before, when you'd let yourself into his place unannounced and surprised him in bed. Not entirely his fault. But _this_... this was far from self-preservation, the Glock still pointed at the boards inches from your legs even as you sat unmoving at his feet.

_Winding Nevada up was always a gamble. If you played your cards right, you'd be limping into the shower an hour later, thoroughly spanked, degraded and fucked; your upper body a mass of hickeys and fading bite marks, your ass sore, jaw aching from being claimed, taken by his thick, satisfying cock. A mellow, sated Nevada would often join you under the hot water, poking and prodding at your fresh bruises while you scrubbed him clean._

_Play your cards_ wrong _, and you'd be in for a much rougher night. A favorite punishment of Nevada's was to cuff you to the bed and ruin orgasm after orgasm. Restrained, unable to move, his fingers inside of you would slowly become more and more torturous, relentlessly assaulting your prostate until you were shaking with the need for release, then stopping the second he felt you tighten around him. He would do nothing to prevent you from coming and you were helpless to do so on your own; unable to do anything but thrash and shout yourself hoarse as you watched your cock pump progressively weaker and weaker surges of come onto your stomach until you were orgasming completely, painfully dry._

The seemingly deafening grate of his zipper finally brought your attention back to the matter at hand, and you licked your lips in nervous anticipation as he pulled his cock from his jeans.

“Well?” Nevada looked down at you expectantly and gestured at himself. “The fuck are you waiting for?”

You glanced at the gun in his hand, then back at his cock, half-hard and waiting for your mouth. It wasn't a decision you remember making to duck forward and wrap your lips around the cold steel barrel instead, but conscious choice or not, the gun was in your mouth before he had time to react.

It didn't taste like much at all, actually; cool on your tongue with the barest hint of a metallic tang as you took it deeper. Nothing like the coppery taste one might expect, but just enough to make your mouth water nonetheless. Your lower lip met the trigger guard, bringing you to a stop, and you swallowed a few times, getting acclimated to the odd sensation of hard metal and sharp angles where you were used to feeling smooth, warm skin.

You dared a glance up at Nevada. The expression on his face was calm, almost frighteningly so, watching intently as you explored the barrel of his gun with your tongue. The fear of knowing it would take no more than a few pounds of pressure to end everything right then and there had your stomach churning with both fear and arousal, your ears flooding with the sound of your own heartbeat, your cock throbbing between your thighs, and you drew in a shaky breath as Nevada's eyes met yours.

He took his finger off the trigger and twisted the Glock to the side, allowing you to take it deeper as he grabbed his erection and started to stroke at a fast, rough pace. You watched out of the corner of your eye, surprised— Nevada was a man that saw little use in taking care of himself; saw it as a bit of a waste when he knew he could have just about anyone he wanted any _way_ he wanted, and at any time. He also knew that you liked to watch on the rare occasions when he _did_ pleasure his own cock, and he would use it against you, letting you catch him masturbating in bed or in the shower and making you work for the privilege of watching him finish.

Clearly impatient, he gave the gun a rough push, forcing it deeper. You whimpered as the sight sliced into the roof of your mouth, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood hit the back of your tongue for the second time that night, sending a sudden, dizzying surge of arousal ripping through you like a fist to the gut. You forced yourself forward and swallowed another inch of steel, bringing your lips flush with the grip and sticking your tongue out to lick at Nevada's fingers where they were wrapped tight around the black rubber.

“You like that?”

Unable to answer, barely able to breathe, you gagged out an affirmation around the barrel.

“You like choking on my fucking gun, _puto_?” Nevada found your inseam and ran the toe of his boot up the inside of one thigh, grinning as he found your painfully hard erection. “Look at this, you don't even need a cock to keep you happy.”

You moaned at the sudden stimulation and licked messily over his knuckles in response; the best display of appreciation that you could manage in your near-incapacitated state. The pleasure didn't last long, though, quickly turning uncomfortable then beginning to border on agonizing. He ground the sole of his boot down against you, squashing the tender head of your cock into your thigh hard enough that you would have doubled over in pain if not for his solid body in front of you keeping you pinned upright.

“Whose is this?”

He pulled the gun from your mouth to let you reply, and you whimpered, eyes tearing up and threatening to spill over from the pain. The bruising force with which he was stepping on you had you panting for breath, and you were barely able to manage an answer through gritted teeth. “ _Yours_.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“ _You_ ,” you gasped, voice breaking in relief as he let up on your cock.

Nevada grunted in satisfaction. His hand slowed to a stop, fist wrapped tight around the base of his erection, and you couldn't help but eye him in anticipation, waiting for him to slap you across the face with it. You started when the hit you were expecting came from the other side, surprised by the dull pain of solid metal brought hard across your cheek, and you moaned before you could stop yourself, able to feel the slick trail of your own saliva left behind as he dragged the gun over your jaw; able to feel the raised ring around the muzzle against your skin. Turning your head to the side, you flicked your tongue over the ridge, working your way into the barrel, teasing the metal the way you would Nevada's slit when he was aroused and just the tiniest bit open.

Nevada groaned above you and pressed forward, rutting against your cheek. His scent was overwhelming— stale smoke and fresh sweat laced with tequila and the faint smell of blood— and you eagerly breathed him in as he pushed the head of his leaking cock into the valley between your cheek and jaw.

“ _Open_.”

The muzzle of his gun found the tender muscles beneath your jaw and dug in, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes were black with arousal, lips parted, and you swallowed hard.

You opened your mouth for him, groaning in pleasure when he wasted no time stuffing his cock inside. He didn't give you time to catch your breath, immediately thrusting forward until he hit the back of your throat and holding himself there. The salty combination of sweat and precome stung the fresh wound in your soft palate, and you blinked away tears as your eyes started to water. He didn't let up, not even for a second, thrusting hard and deep even as tears rolled down your cheeks and began to soak into the front of his jeans.

“There you go,” Nevada wrapped a hand around the back of your head for both leverage and protection, and started to fuck your mouth in earnest. “Suck on it.”

You tightened your lips obediently, sucking his shaft clean and swallowing the better part of the mess you'd made. His balls were not even an inch out of reach and you stuck your tongue out in an attempt to lick at them, but all you succeeded in doing was managing to gag yourself.

Nevada moaned his approval as you choked on his cock, tight muscles milking him with each spasm, and he took the opportunity to feed you another inch, slipping the head of his cock into your throat between coughs. Every thrust sent him further down your windpipe, and you struggled to swallow, rapidly running out of air. The coarse curls just below his navel met your nose as he eased the thick base of his cock past your lips, overwhelming you with his scent, and you gripped at your own erection through layers of clothing, squeezing tight to keep from humiliating yourself on his apartment floor.

He was just barely beginning to twitch in your mouth and you moaned as he drew back far enough to free up your vocal cords. Encouraging him with your throat and tongue, you swallowed around his head with every thrust and applied the smallest bit of gentle pressure under his crown every time he drew back until he buried himself in your throat again with a loud groan.

His come was salty, bitter from his regular intake of caffeine, alcohol, and stimulants— unpleasant in theory, but a taste that was so specifically Nevada that you'd come to enjoy it. You happily swallowed the first flood of warmth, his cock throbbing, pulsing between your lips and sending rush after rush of his release over your tongue.

Nevada’s grip on your head finally loosened as he twitched a few more times, then drew back, wrapped a hand around the base of his erection, and squeezed, milking what was left into your open mouth. You stuck your tongue out obediently, catching everything that he gave you and savoring the taste for a moment before you met his gaze and slowly, deliberately let his load drip from your tongue onto the floor.

His hand was around your throat before the first few drops even hit the boards, and you scrambled to get your feet under you as he lifted you up the wall. There was nothing gentle about his hold on you as he hauled you upright, the pressure on your windpipe enough to cut off your air supply for several seconds and send another rush of adrenaline through your system.

“You really gonna waste it like that?”

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“More?” Nevada laughed in disbelief. “You want more?”

You didn't answer; just cleared the mess of blood, spit, and come from your chin with the back of your hand, then looked him in the eyes and wiped your hand on his shirt.

“ _Maricón de mierda_ ,” he spat, grabbing you around the back of the neck and shoving you toward the bed. “You're lucky I have to wash this shirt anyway.”

Nevada wasn't necessarily a big man, but he was _strong_ , and he knew how to use his weight to his advantage. You cursed as you stumbled across the floorboards, catching yourself on the edge of the mattress before your bruised, aching knees took another hit.

“ _Up_ ,” Nevada demanded, carelessly dropping his gun to the floor and shoving a knee between your legs from behind, forcing you into a split-second decision between obeying or risking more damage to your cock.

He gripped you by the waistband and yanked your jeans down, still buttoned and digging in to your thighs. Two big fingers prodded roughly at your hole as he climbed on top of you and you tensed, but nothing could have prepared you for the searing pain of his thick cock splitting you open as he forced his way into your ass. It was every kind of pain at once; your rim stretched, stinging as he pushed his way deeper, and dull throbbing just beyond that as you involuntarily spasmed around him, your muscles revolting against the brutal intrusion.

“Is this what you wanted? Hmm?” Nevada's hand met your ass with a _crack_. “You need to be reminded who you belong to?”

He didn't expect an answer, and your jaw was clenched too tight to offer one anyway. You whimpered a bit from the slap, but that was all you could manage as he sank further into you.

“There you go,” Nevada groaned as his hips met your ass. “Take it all, _puto_.”

Your hands were two tight fists in the sheets as he rocked from side to side, deliberately stretching you even further. He was, mercifully, still the tiniest bit slick from fucking your mouth— certainly not enough to ease the pain, but at least enough that nothing had torn yet. You didn't think, anyway.

He gave you a careless thrust, tearing a groan from you. His cock was already meeting your prostate perfectly, and you tightened around him painfully as he withdrew and pushed in again. Heat was starting to flood from your lower stomach to your balls, and you struggled to reach between your legs and give yourself a squeeze. A third thrust caught you by surprise and you gasped and frantically tried to adjust your position so that he wasn't penetrating you so deeply, but all you managed to do was slip into an angle where the last inch of him somehow just slid right in. You froze with a sob, but Nevada had other ideas.

“That’s it,” he growled, pushing your chest down into the mattress. “ _Fuck yourself on my cock_.”

You whimpered but complied, arching for him and spreading your knees apart. He didn't give you much space to work with, forcing you to keep his erection buried deep inside you even as you started to push your ass back up against his hips. It was less fucking and more arrhythmic flailing, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The pain was quickly turning to pleasure as you thrust yourself onto his cock over and over, the heat between your thighs building and starting to throb in time with your erection. It still burned, but in a good way— waves of pleasure running up your spine and sending your eyes rolling back in your head, your ass tightening around Nevada's cock with each surge.

“ _Mierda_ , I remember when you were so tight you couldn’t even take the tip.” Nevada spread you open, baring your hole as he withdrew completely.

_It was true; you were barely able to keep from screaming in pain the first time you'd let him have you. His cock had looked manageable, if a bit thicker than average, but you realized that wasn't the case as soon as he had you on your hands and knees. He'd used a generous amount of lube, but he still hadn't been able to penetrate you; the preventing factors being a combination of his size and your nerves keeping you clenched tight._

_He'd settled for fucking your thighs, and had gone out and bought you a set of trainers the next day, which were somehow worse than trying to take his cock. They fit just fine— too well, even— keeping you in a torturous state of arousal around the clock. Even if you somehow managed to forget about the silicone plug settled snugly in your ass, one tiny movement was enough to bring all that sensation back immediately, sending a fresh wave of arousal running through your lower belly every single time._

_And just to make everything that much worse, Nevada loved playing with the toys. Especially when you got up to the bigger sizes. He'd twist and tug at the plugs until you were shaking, pulling just enough that the bulge would threaten to slip from your ass then letting it slide right back in. It had taken just over a week of near-constant use, but by that point finally being able to take his cock was both a triumph and a mercy._

“Look at you now, you fucking slut,” he laughed, giving your ass another good smack.

You could feel cool air rush inside of you and you flushed, knowing exactly what sort of shape you must be in down there. The way he was fucking you hard and dry left no doubt, and you buried your face in the pillow with a wince, trying and failing to squeeze yourself shut again in the absence of his cock.

Nevada hooked a fingertip inside of your rim. “I don't think that's how it works,” he mocked, tugging at your abused entrance.

You gasped in surprise; the only deep breath you had time for before his erection was back inside, forcing your walls wide open again.

_Nevada didn't use condoms. He’d been very clear about that from the start. The lack of a constricting barrier made it so that you could feel the shape of his bare cock with excruciating clarity, the flared head slipping into your aching entrance with that telltale amount of give, followed immediately by the hot, intense stretch of his raw shaft. It had become such a familiar sensation, but it was still one of the most incredible things you'd ever felt, and one of your favorite things to work yourself up fantasizing about in those rare cases when the real thing was unavailable._

You let out a soft moan as a few drops of precome made their way up your neglected erection. Slowing your hips to a crawl, you milked as much fluid from yourself as you could without the use of your hands; arching your back against his stomach and angling his cock against your prostate at that perfect angle, wiggling your hips to send a clear, slick stream down the inside of your thigh.

“Jesus,” Nevada muttered, dragging his fingertips through the mess. “This what my cock does to you?”

You nodded and ground your ass against him, taking him as deep as you possibly could.

“ _Fuck_.” He grabbed you by the waist and spread you with both palms. “Don't move.”

You nodded again, then whimpered as he began to withdraw. Your hips started to follow of their own accord in a desperate bid to keep him inside of you, and his hand was between your shoulder blades in an instant, pinning you tight to the mattress.

“ _What did I just say?_ ”

You groaned in frustration but kept still as he continued to pull out until just his head was tugging at your entrance. He stayed there for what felt like minutes on end, moving just enough to keep you stimulated, to keep you dripping into the sheets, before he grabbed you by the hips and thrust the entire way back in.

You cried out, clenching tight and only helping push him over the edge. Nevada's cock throbbed in your ass, pumping you full of come as you shouted and squirmed under him. He was spent after the first round; you could tell, but that didn't stop him from continuing to fuck you through his orgasm, filling you and sending come running down your legs into the sheets.

He pulled out with no warning and gave you one last smack across the asscheek, his fingertips grazing the back of your balls. “Try to spit _that_ out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to [message](https://fuckerao3.tumblr.com/ask) or [DM](https://www.tumblr.com/message/fuckerao3) me with questions, suggestions, or requests (no promises), or if you'd like to beta!


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